


Serial

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Louis, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Crossdressing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Schizophrenia, Top Harry, a n g s t, harry works at tesco, lots of swearing, louis is a bit of a whore, s o m u c h a n g s t, what else?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:24:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3458993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> louis is a schizophrenic minx that's killed thirty men over a span of a year. harry is a worker at tesco that always gets saddled with the late night shifts. <i></i></i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> [[ so, this is something that i'm beginning. 'i can stand you one more night' is in a current hiatus and probably will never be finished, but i've had this story in my files for quite a while now, so i thought that i'd post it. i'll add some trigger warnings in each chapter so you guys will know what's going to happen.
> 
> i'll try and update as much as i can. i'd just like to add that louis is aware that he is letting people use his body and of course, it's crossdressing because when have i not written a fic where louis dresses better than i do? most of his outfits will be coming from [her](http://instagram.com/aliencreature) although i'll post a link of the certain outfit when i've described it.
> 
> triggers:
> 
> i don't believe there's any, but there's a heavy usage of bruises.
> 
> unfortunately, i know quite a lot about schizophrenia due to my great aunt having it and this contains some of the things that she did :((
> 
> that's it? oh, he's a picture of the [cover.](http://a.wattpad.com/cover/33937757-256-k165883.jpg)
> 
> enjoy!!]]

      ** _prologue_**

 

It starts rather quickly.

The doctors first notice it when Louis was eight years old, his mother being a woman with multiple children and very little help to raise them. She takes him to the hospital when her eldest daughter comes up dragging her youngest behind her back, shoving his lithe body forward with a frown on his face. At first, the woman notices nothing, but her daughter is leaning down and jabbing a finger towards two bruises on Louis' knees — an array of purples and yellows that gather on the supple skin and travel up beneath the bottom of his footie shorts.

She had made to clear that they weren't supposed to be using the little bit of money that they had on getting her child a spot in the clinic — after her daughter had begun to complain, telling her that she'd make it to her boyfriend's birthday party after they had finished up — but figured that the heavy bruises on Louis' skin was enough of a reason to go. He was paired up with a man pediatric that had given him a plushy named Quincy and told him to hold very still so he would be able to get a sticker after everything was finished up. The child gripped onto the fur of the bear tightly as the man ran his fingertips over his knees, traveling up onto his thin thighs and pushing up the bottom of the hospital gown they've put him in to where his Spiderman briefs were visible.

Nothing happens. The doctor tells his mother that some people bruised more heavily than others and he simply must have fell down during his footie practice. His mother attempted to get a couple of words out of Louis and he just shakes his head in response, smiling as he plays with the Batman sticker on his bicep. And when the bruises come back months later, more heavier and wider than it had been before, his mother just sighs and tells him that he should be more careful before mixing a bit of pain medication into his strawberry milk. He giggles.

It continues like all things do— only instead of the bruises forming on Louis' legs and thighs, they begin to take place on his wrists and collarbones. His mother frowns at him when she helps him undress after a long school day, chastising him and saying ‘Louis William, you need to stop being so rough with yourself’ before slipping one of his T-shirts over his little frame. He's nine now, and just bites down onto his lower lip, pale eyes scanning the red carpet underneath their feet.

The woman's daughter complains about him whining like a so-called ‘little bitch’ every single night when she's ready to go to sleep. She's tired of it, but gasps and turns to her mother when she sneaks into her little brother's room to tell him to shut it and finds that his fingertips are pressing roughly against himself as he sleeps. The doctors tell the family that no one else but Louis could have been making the bruises, although one of the nurses stare at them in disbelief and accusing eyes. Louis gets yelled at that night. He cries and begins to create the spots again with a nimble hand when the woman sends him into his own corner.

It stops rather quickly, when he's admitted in Year six. He makes friends that his mother and sisters never fully get to meet— ones with names like Jacqueline and Elizabeth Jane and Charlie, ones who are beautiful and always seem to get into some sort of mischief that Louis describes with starry eyes and a newfound interest — and it's never fully a problem until she's called up to Miss. Robertson's Academy for Exceptionally Talented Young Students for a conference about her son's odd behaviour in class. There's no one named Jacqueline or Charlie or Elizabeth Jane and it's just a bit worrisome, is all.

His mother doesn't take him to the doctors.

Boys love him in high school, it seems. They love his reeking innocence and his soft, light eyes and his small nose. It continues there, as well, and the people that Louis continuously talk about are actually  _real_ _enrolled_ _students_ who have parents and birth certificates. (He still constantly talks about his three friends that he met in Year six, but his mother was just glad that he wasn't on his lonesome anymore.)

His mother notices how the bruises begin to reappear — scattered sloppy on his legs and neck. He stopped eating so often and began dressing in clothes that she would have expected her middle child to wear. Louis stopped speaking about his new friends and spends most of his time in his bedroom with some lad who he says his name was Jack. His mother had seen the lad before — pale skin, a septum piercing and a face that someone much older than an fifteen-year-old but she didn't question it because her son had  _someone_ _._

His thin thin thin thin lips were always bruised too. There's this grey coloured knitted sweater that he always wears with black knee-socks that Jack must've got for him. He claims to love it, loves it more than it loves the lad who's become more than a guest in their home. It worries her quite a lot, but she doesn't want to say anything about it. His head's always down or on Jack's shoulder and sometimes he laughs aloud, saying that ‘ _Fuck,_ _Charlie_ _,_ _you're_ _so_ _goddamned_ _funny’_ _._

One day he comes home with a new Jack and the next day, he comes with another. They always leave with their flies down and it angers his mother. When she brings it up, the only thing that he begins to do is scream at the top of his lungs and chuck several articles of his clothing at her face.

They end up in the doctor's office when one of the Jack's come out of her son's bedroom with Louis hot on their trail, bruises scattered up the side of his neck. The Jack's arm is bleeding profusely and he's accusing Louis of cutting him while they were in the middle of fucking. The child's cheeks go pink and he reaches out a hand to touch the boy's arm, only to be pushed back and called a ‘psycho prick’. When his mother asked what was wrong, the Jack informs her that Louis had pulled out something in the middle of a blowjob and dragged it over the skin of his arm. He's paid not to say anything.

The answer to all of his mother's questions are finally revealed when a new doctor tells her that her son's schizophrenic. And luckily, it ends when he begins to take his Stelazine.

Everything's fine and he's  _not_ crazy.


	2. one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[triggers:
> 
> lil' bit of racist terms, lil' bit of smut, lotta' bit of crossdressing
> 
> enjoy!!]]

    ** _one_**

Typically, Louis thinks that gay bars are the reason why most gay men are stereotyped as flamboyant and fashionable. The penis-shaped straws are entirely too vulgar and the bartenders' too-tight skinnies and man crop-tops. Madonna always seems to be playing and God, their voices — so manly, yet high-pitched and completely annoying.

His fingers continuously taps against the case of the black and white grid case against the back of his mobile, legs crossed and chilly. His head absolutely aches and his mind is jumbled, but he's been in the club called “WINSTEAD” for about five minutes and there's already at least three different men glancing over at him, no longer listening to their mate's words about Lady Gaga's dress that she wore to the Oscars — a delicious combination between the trio that anyone would be in love with. Dublin's good for that, he's realised. They always produce great men.

There's this man that looks like he's gotten dragged along with a group of his friends, doesn't look interested in anything around him and certainly doesn't look gay. He's tall and gangly with mocha-coloured skin and a beanie thrown over his short hair. His eyelids are low and a beautiful brown colour and from where he's sitting, Louis can hear his high English accent that he doesn't hear enough of in Ireland. He's looked over at least twice, and their eye contact always stays for a span of six seconds before the man's raising his thick eyebrows and looking away.

And perhaps he's dressed sloppily tonight — in a tight lace dress that resembles a nightie that he'd stolen from his older sister, black knee-socks he's had for quite a while, and Doc Martens, low-cut and making a tapping noise against the bar stool he was perched on each time his leg swings back. A frown has already made its way onto Louis' soft face and the man hasn't looked over within five minutes, he's counted. His jaw clenches and he leans forward to take a sip of the rum that he's ordered. 

He's mulling over the possibility that he wasn't getting what he wanted because the dress made him look too thin —the gap in between his legs substantial — when he feels eyes on him again. The man was smirking and raising his eyebrows once more, as if to ask Louis a question. The eighteen-year-old smiles back, lips still wrapped around the straw in his mouth and beckons him over with one slim finger. His entire face screams of lust and causality, and he waits patiently as the man hesitates, then excuses himself from his mates to walk over.

He smells like cinnamon and weed. “I'm not gay, ‘ya know,” the man tells him as soon as he steps in front of his frame.

Louis decides to ignore that. “What part of England are you from, love?”

“London,” the man smiles. He's done something, Louis can tell. “Where are you from, then?”

“Donny. A little part in Yorkshire,” says Louis.

He notices how the man moves closer into his space, brown eyes flickering down to Louis' hand that was wrapped around a fluorescent pink glass. The skin is bruised — coloured with greens and reds and blues and it's like there's a little galaxy on the small space alone. Louis friend when he realises and reaches his other hand out, pulling softly at the man's chin to get his eyes to remain on him and only him. He's a submissive thing and immediately looks over when he's forced to.

“I'm Louis,” he says gently. “What's your name?”

“McKinley,” the man replies.

Louis let's go of his face and uncrosses his legs, leaning forward in the bar stool. One of the slim straps fall down his shoulder and he doesn't bother to fix it. The sudden shifting in his clothing reveals the top of his chest. A piece of his lengthy hair falls into his eyes and he slowly tucks it behind his ear.

“So, you're not gay, right, Micky?” Louis squeaks, eyes fluttery and wide.

“Nope,” says McKinley, smirking.

The teenager hesitates, then— “Is that why you're over here flirting with a kid who used a fake ID to get inside? A kid dressed like a bird, may I add.”

“I rather like the way you're dressed,” McKinley smirks.

Louis snorts. “And you're not gay,” he says in disbelief.

“Nah,” the man retorts. “But I am bisexual.”

It catches him off guard for a second, but perhaps it had something to do with the pounding in his head that seemed to be nonstop these past couple of days. He glances over McKinley's shoulder and sees the group of friends that he had been talking with before being called over by him staring over in their direction, sending excitable whoops and cheers, as if they've never seen one of their mates together with someone other than themselves.

McKinley must notice too, because he's whirling around and scoffing to himself. He sticks up his middle finger and Louis bites down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood when he catches sight of one of the lads shaking his head frantically. He doesn't like the attention being off of him, especially when the next best thing is something negative.

He frowns and snaps his fingers. “Do you know them?” he questions when McKinley turns back around.

“Nope. I've just met them. Drunk as hell.”

Louis grins widely. That's good, it's great news actually. It must look odd because McKinley's eyebrows are furrowing and he's opening his mouth to speak, but Louis is holding one discoloured finger up to his lips from the badly bruised hand before moving forward to press a kiss against the man's warm cheek. His face was smooth, no sort of trace of any facial hair and it makes him absolutely giddy. McKinley sucks in a breath of air, he's able to hear it.

“How ‘bout you forget about your little friends for a bit and take me home?” mumbles Louis in a sultry tone. “I just  _love_  chocolate.”

***

The sex is absolutely  _mindblowing_ _._

McKinley's cock is huge and he didn't give Louis any time to adjust or become comfortable with the fullness inside of him before just going absolutely mad and forcing his lithe body up the twin-sized mattress in his room with each and every single thrust that he delivered. They hadn't even gave each other enough time to strip themselves of their clothing — the man with his jeans around his ankles and Louis still in his tight dress that ultimately ends up utterly ruined.

There's tears gathering in the corners of his eyes and his bottom lip is as bruised as the entirety of his left upper thigh by the time that they've both came against each other. Louis' breath is coming out in harsh squeaks and his knees are resting against one another. He remembers McKinley commenting on how hot that his eyes looked while he was in the middle of sucking his prick into his mouth, pulling off to take the time to giggle quietly. He wonders how they look now, but he only gives himself a couple more seconds of resting before leaning over the side of the bed and moving his hand around for his shoes.

“Leaving so soon, love?” McKinley asks, fingertips tracing over Louis' pretty little back as he bends over.

“‘Course not,” Louis responds. He's got a grip on the shoe now. “I'm fuckin’ dizzy, goodness.”

He pulls his body back up onto the bed, moving a palm down to pull at the hemming at the bottom of his cum-stained dress. His hair is dangling in front of his sight and he notices how McKinley looks when he crawls on top of him with his bottom lip caught in between his sharp teeth, eyelids hooded. He could barely even talk, his throat is so wrecked, but he tucks a piece of his hair behind his ear yet again that night and leans down to press a kiss against McKinley's full lips.

They stay like that for a couple more minutes — with Louis' fingers wrapped around the man's neck and his lips pressed against his mouth softly, eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones. He can already feel McKinley's prick hardening again underneath his bum and shifts a bit in his lap with a small lap. McKinley's hand is tracing up and down his thighs and his fingers hit a certain spot that has him jerking back and wincing. Concern flashes in the man's eyes immediately.

“What happened – like with your hand and your legs?” he asks gently.

Right about then, Louis decides that the charade he was putting up was useless. He pulls up and unwraps his fingers from the man's neck, releasing his bottom lip from his mouth with a roll of his pastel eyes.

“What's it matter, babe?” Louis sighs.

“I just wanted to know,” retorts McKinley.

Suddenly, Louis moves further up onto the man's chest with the tiny glimmer of a smirk playing against his lips. McKinley only raises an eyebrow and smiles back, like his thoughts had drained entirely away from the idea of the skin distortions that his shag had been going through. They're back to kissing once Louis nibbles a bit at his bottom lip, hands moving towards his torso and shoulders. His fingers are so light, so butterfly-like it almost seems that they're not even there and that they're just a mere illusion.

He pulls back a bit, nose brushing against McKinley's slightly. His hands were back towards his neck once more but it was nearly different this time, like he's got something in his tiny palm.

“I did it to myself,” Louis admits in a whisper. “Looked so pretty that I couldn't help it.”

McKinley falters a bit and his grip slips from Louis' waist.

“Whoa, wha—”

And Louis absolutely  _loves_ this part. He doesn't even give McKinley enough time to get his sentence out before he's slipping the knife that he had pulled out from his size 6 Doc Martens in his palm to get a better grasp on it and driving it into the bloke's still sweaty neck with a gasp of his own. McKinley immediately sputters and Louis takes in an intake of air before yanking the blade back out and pushing it into a new spot that happened to be in the middle of his throat, laughing highly as he does.

But, he's  _not_ fucking crazy.

McKinley can't breath now and he's able to gather enough strength to push Louis' body off of his own despite all of the blood emitting from his neck. The heat in the room has caused Louis' hair to go frizzy and he runs his fingers through it — watching with incredibly starry eyes as the man struggles and gasps for air that was going to be there. He ends up kicking himself onto the floor with a harsh attempt to get in a gulp of oxygen and Louis follows after him, dress crinkling up his bum.

“Oh shit, I'm so sorry, love,” Louis squeaks when he gets beside McKinley's writhing body. “I haven't been taking my medications lately and those  _goddamned_ _pesky_ _voices_ are always making me feel bloody  _mad_ _._ You understand, right?”

“F–fuck…y–you,” McKinley rasps back.

“Well, you sure as hell did that quite expertly,” the boy says with a laugh.

Then, he's taking the knife out of his neck and wiping off a bit on the front of his dress. He looks at McKinley with wide eyes before murmuring something along the lines of  _‘mind_ _if_ _I_ _keep_ _this_ _right_ _here_ _?’_ before stabbing the knife into the middle of his chest with a flick of his hair. He doesn't hesitate as he dips his finger into the pool of blood onto the skin on his neck, popping it into his mouth and sucking on the thin finger with a quiet mewl.

“Christ, Nana was right. You coloured folks taste fucking extraordinary,” he moans and it could be more pleasurable than the sex itself.

But, he's  _not_ crazy.

The man must hurt something terrible but Louis is simply dragging the knife out from his body and straddled his waist once again. He's dying now, it's obvious. Louis sighs and holds the blade up to his face, lips pouting out against the metal and staining himself with the man's blood. He runs his fingers through his hair once again, pulling the thick fluid all the way down the soft tresses as he did.

After a moment, he gives out a soft ‘ahhh’ and quickly jabs it into McKinley's neck once more, this time lower and where his windpipe was located. His eyes were rolling up the back of his hard and there was pink flesh coming from where Louis was taking the knife out from his skin.

“I'm so sorry,” he mumbles as the man gives his last breath.

The entire area around them was bloody and Louis' knees were stained as well. He's setting the knife against the top of the mattress that was mixed with sweat and cum and standing up on wobbly legs. He's a goddamned mess and this has to be his sloppiest work yet — just looking down on it has him shaking his head and tangling his fingers onto the cross necklace around his neck. He had stolen it from a couple months ago, taking it away from a lad with curly blonde hair and eyelashes to die for.

He usually doesn't leave right away — sometimes walking around the area in the man's clothing and dancing cheerily along to the vinyls they had owned before a terrible accident that was him until the sun decided to come up and tell him that it was time to go. Still so, he walks over to where his socks and shoes were located, slipping them on with a short sigh.  _‘Christ,_ _if_ _mummy_ _only_ _knew_ _what_ _I've_ _been_ _doing’_ he thinks as he slips on the left shoe onto his foot. Behind him, McKinley gasps out and it scares the absolute shit out of him but it turns out that it happened to be his last and final breath.

He's gonna have to clean the bloke's dick off and dispose of any sign that he was there, maybe even make it seem like it had been some freak break-in that flipped into something that went too far.

 _“Good_ _job_ _,_ _then_ _,_ _kitten_ _,”_ Jacqueline pipes up out of nowhere.

Louis giggles and plops back onto the mattress with a small bounce. He squeals quietly in pure happiness.

“Right? Fucking sick, Jackie,” he responds.

And perhaps he's just a little bit crazy. But, he can only blame that on the lack of stableness and Stelazine in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how was it?? i feel like the ending was a little bit shitty but ya'll will know more about louis' background and about what he does in the upcoming chapters.
> 
> kudos and comments?
> 
> -l

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhhh! how was it? this is unbeta'd so all of the mistakes belong to me. i'll try and fix them before i post the first chapter which should be soon, don't worry.
> 
> kudos, comments, and constructive criticism?
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr](http://trashyprincesss.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> -l


End file.
